


The End of the World

by Mimsys



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ender's Game Fusion, Ender's Game AU, Gen, Guess who was watching Ender's Game for the third time?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2667908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimsys/pseuds/Mimsys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Waton is the 'toon leader of Bee Army; Sherlock is his newest recruit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the World

John Watson has never seen a recruit so ill suited for Battle School. The launchie, because he was too scrawny and cocky to be anything but, had a mess of black hair and piercing mercury eyes that were outlined by the traces of fading bruises. “Sherlock.” He introduced himself offhandedly, not seeming overly disturbed by the curious, assessing looks of his new peers, “Are you Captain Watson?”

“I am.” This was the man who had been sent to replace Lestrade while he was recovering from a stomach illness? They might have been better off without a substitute at all. In fact, Watson was very seriously considering mentioning such to Mycroft, the director of both Battle and Command School. “Welcome to Bee Army. Last name, launchie?”

“Holmes.” And there went John’s plan to complain to Mycroft, who shared a last name with the newest member of his team and was likely a relative. If Sherlock’s pointed smirk was any indication, he knew what John had been planning to do. “Yes, quite. I believe you know my brother. He would have handled the paper work involving your leg.”

“What do you know about that?” The larger man asked harshly, hands fisting by his sides, “I’m relatively sure your brother could lose his job if he shared confidential information with his brother for your bedtime stories, Holmes.” He gestured sharply behind his back and his men moved quickly, clearing out of the room so the pair could continue in privacy. “And Mycroft’s not a horrible bloke, all things considered, so I’d hate to have to bring that to anyone’s attention.”

The pale boy smirked, crossing his arms before his chest. “He didn’t tell me anything about you, Captain. But you keep all your weight on one foot, yet anyone seriously injured would be sent to either Command School if they had tactical uses, or back to Earth if not. Someone injured wouldn’t be allowed to stay in Battle School, let alone lead a ‘toon. So it’s psychosomatic, which isn’t surprising given how hard it is to injure yourself in zero G, and my brother deals with the paperwork for psych evaluations.” He speaks so easily, as if each word didn’t hurt John as badly as his leg.

John nodded stiffly, eyeing the other critically. “So you’re headed for Command School, aren’t you? You’re observant and obviously not a warrior.” Sherlock just chuckled, shrugging sharply with one angular shoulder, and then turned on his heel and stalked over, moving with a graze that John admitted to envying now that he walked so clumsily in zones with artificial gravity implemented.

-

Sherlock should have looked awkward in the Battle Room, small in spindly like an insect in his skintight uniform. But he moved gracefully, flipping himself through the air and directing John’s men when they got close enough to interfere with his plans. When John’s leg spasms as he’s kicking off the wall of the Battle Room, he feels thin arms wrap around his waist and pull him away from the lights bursting at his feet, and his boot freezes up but he’s still mobile, still in the game. He twisted around, fisting his hands in the other’s uniform. “Thanks, Holmes.”

“Not ‘launchie’ this time?” Sherlock asked sharply, but he was already kicked off from a star before the other could answer, leaving him behind without so much as a goodbye. Watson’s not sure why he cares; after all, they’re in the middle of a game and can hardly afford time for pleasantries, but he does.

-

When not in the Battle Room, the dark haired man spends his time either playing the challenging games on their tablets, working ahead in their classes, or making plans for scenarios that are impossible. Until they aren’t. John’s not sure when the odds started being stacked against Bee Army in the games, but he does know why. They’re testing Sherlock, trying to get him ready for Command School and the war against the Buggers. They want him to be a weapon, and Watson hates that they don’t understand him, or even try to. He tries to warn Sherlock but the slim man just laughed coldly and said he understood.

Weeks later, as they walked back along the yellow-black-yellow lights to their barracks, Sherlock slid up to the other. “You’re not limping.” He noted mildly, and John noticed that it was true, that the grueling battle had taken his attention away from the injury that Sherlock had been claiming was psychosomatic since they first met. “You performed admirably in there, Captain.” And much as John knew that he shouldn’t be so pleased about a compliment from a subordinate, he smiled warmly at the other and slung one arm around his shoulders. “I- Watson?”

“Yes, Sherlock?” John asked easily, tensing slightly. If he upset Sherlock, his brother could make the ‘toon leader’s life a living hell.

“I was wondering if we could go over some battle formations tonight.” Sherlock hadn’t sounded hesitant once since they met and John didn’t like hearing the uncertainty in his tone.

“That sounds great.” John said, and he meant it.

-

Sherlock stumbled into the room, pressing one hand to his cheek to hide the painful swelling there. “Sorry for being late, Captain. There was an incident.” When John looked up, there was aggravation in his eyes that quickly turned to worry as the ‘toon leader rose to his feet and crossed the distance between them.

“What happened? I thought you were going to go play Battle Games.”

“I got past The End of the World.” Sherlock replied ominously, tense and uncomfortable.

“Bloody hell, Sherlock. I don’t care about the game. Who _did_ this to you?”

Sherlock looked down at where his slender fingers knotted together in his lap. “I’m a Third, you know? Everyone knows about Mycroft, of course, but we had another brother. No one talks about him.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t.”

Sherlock only gave him a brittle grin and nodded. “Of course, Watson.”

-

"What are you thinking about?" John asked, frowning across the Battle Room at the other. "You almost ran into a star; that's not like you."

"The beginning of a whole new world."


End file.
